Tuesday, 23 August 2016

I’m back in my home-base, but still keeping up my daily
walking,
while fingering through my beads numbering 108, and moving my upper and lower lips--as well as my tongue--to
utter the name of Krishna. Whenever I
travel, these mechanical, mental and spiritual outputs are there.

I re-connected with Yonge St., the strip from Bloor to
Dundas, known for its characters.

Near Dundas, a Caucasian young person, with hair
pulled back to form a bun, came up to me and began talking in a rather
incoherent way.

“Are you on drugs?”
I asked him. Indeed he was, as he
expressed so in a non-confessional way.
For him, that’s his life. I
mentioned to him to do himself a favour and pull out of it. “Then life can begin.”

Our conversation got cut short when another fellow,
this time an Indian--who was obviously also
‘on something’--addressed me with, “Hare Krishna!” He said it several times and continued with
words that made no sense. Still, he was
zealous and maintained a smile for the reason, I guess, that he’s talking to a sadhu, of sorts. I indicated that I had to proceed, although I perceived he was liking the attention.

A young Black chap then came to stand in front of me, and in a facetious way, bowed at the waist
respectfully, demonstrating some kind of reverence. I took the
gesture to not be coming from the heart, so I didn’t take him too
seriously.

As I said, “Characters!” But I wouldn’t put them down entirely. They were the ones who came forward, out of
all the pedestrians on Yonge St.

Yesterday, we witnessed an entity in the form of a catfish
exiting the water. This morning, the reverse occurred.
It was not a catfish, but rather a large black water snake who slithered
from the trees in front of us, moved over the sand, and slipped
into the shallow shore waters of Lake Erie. It then disappeared into the depths of the
fresh water.

We were also terribly humbled by biting stable-flies. Nature came on then with another of her forces. After a dry spell, running a month in
duration, a near-drought in Ontario, Ohio, and the surrounding vicinity, was dispelled. Rains and rainbows made their
visitations. On our return journey to
Toronto, I
delighted in reading from “Memories,” recollections from devotees about our
dear guru, Srila Prabhupada, as those welcoming rains came down with a passion.

Every journey, especially an auto-driven one, needs
its breaks. I suggested to our crew,
“Let’s check out one of my favorite locations on the planet—Uncle Tom’s
Cabin.” With me were Nimai-Nitai,
originally from India, Elona from Latvia, and Katrina from Russia. They were not aware of the historical
significance of this place.

As a person on foot--or one who most often likes to be--I have the opportunity to
learn of past tragedies and victories.
Historical
plaques and places are everywhere. Check
out the Underground Railway, Josiah Henson, and Uncle Tom’s
Cabin.

He had whiskers and was no more than a foot in
length. He was tanned and wiggling his
way along, moving by will and not wave.
It was time for him to go.
Providence had told
him so. He had had the lake as his habitat for ‘who knows how long’ and now he was beach-bound.

A group of us, in retreat on the island’s east-side, were ready to indulge in prasadam, a sacred picnic, when we saw this catfish coming our
way. At first glance, I thought “Is he hungry?” as he ignored the kids a-splash
all around him, and ‘
bee-lined’ his
way to dry sand.

He was determined to hit air, to lie on that sand, die, and hence--end a cycle. The water kept pulling him in, in small
lapping waves, but he fought to remove himself from the H2O, and succeeded. He keeled over and did what I’ve seen massive
carps do when they’re aged. They exit
from the water
and camp at the beach, passing away in seconds or maybe minutes. For this catfish, it was about two minutes.

What’s next for him?
A new body awaiting his spirit?

He was pulled by nature, and behind that, a divine
power. Perhaps it was the same power
which compelled those people coming from the winery, to dance with us at our dusk kirtan. We wrapped up the
day by the dock with not a swim, but with receiving a wondrous wind while I led
that timeless mantra and produced a tal on the drum.

I was surprised at the zealousness shown by the folks
who sang and danced. But then after
their sips and swigs of grape-juice-gone-WOW, it’s understandable. We devotees from Ohio, Michigan and Ontario,
were inspired to see the full-on participation.

I showed my birth certificate at the Sandusky, Ohio
ferry terminal, ascended and sat in the top, outside level of the boat, destined for a
small retreat at Pelee Island. I was
surprised to see the swift response by the Afro-American devotee couple,
Avadhuta and Agnihotra, to come and join me after my invite just hours before.

We sailed under myriad-blue-toned clouds, caught a
breeze from Lake Erie’s kindness, and chatted with the couple. Once settling ourselves after docking, we drove in their van around
the entire island, measuring its distance. It is 23 kilometres riding the coastal roads.That was great!

We stopped in at an outdoor café for a custom-made,
vegetarian pizza (no other option). We
were pleased to meet the cook, Riki, a devotee of nature who had
met members of our crew last year. She has been reading the “Bhagavad-gita,” Krishna’s divine
words. She is the wife of Matthew--who has to work on the mainland--and is the
mother of Camilia, age nine.She
teaches yoga, by the way, to some of the residents on this island which has a
population of 125 in the winter (expanded in the summer).

Truly it’s great to be in a place where there are no
billboards and no lamp-posts. You can
see the stars in the sky, and tonight
in particular was unique, because you could maximize
your meteor-gazing.
I bumped into a couple and scared them to death with my presence in the dark. They had
counted over one hundred meteors shooting in the sky.

Now
that the walk is put to rest for the time being, it is a matter of tidying up
and putting away, or giving away (as gifts) some of the items that were part
and parcel of our paraphernalia meant for the travels.

At
an evening sanga (gathering), I gave
away some literature for good reading, a stockpile we had left over after
sales. The group in Cleveland was really
fanciful by the offer of Steven Rosen’s book “Christ and Krishna.” Rosen is one of my favourite authors and the
book is excellent. As I was passing them
out, I received donations, against the printing costs anyways.

One
of the items we were to return back to its owner, with whole-hearted obligation
and appreciation, was the Honda van which we named Vamana. Rene is a true sweet-heart
for lending it to us over this period of two and a half months. We wanted to return it in as mint a condition
as possible. This entailed internal and
external cleansing. Mandala did a great
job with that. A rear window was
replaced by us after someone had bashed that area and snuck inside while we
were parked in Des Moines, one night. We
also gassed up, and Mandala and I went
to the Lube Shop for an oil change.

This
last item was a good experience in terms of the thorough, friendly nature in
which the auto crew handled themselves.
As said, they were friendly, and concise. And quick!
I was inspired.

“Now this is the way
a spiritual organization can be managed,” I thought. And if I could add, the tone of empathy in
dealing with clients/congregants/seekers could be added.

About
the sweetest thing I experienced from this stretch of the U.S. walk was to
receive a letter from my spiritual brother, who’s also a monk—Jayadvaita
Swami. The words were encouraging.

“Well,
you’re doing the healthiest thing in the world and making a valuable spiritual
contribution by your example. Happy
walking and happy chanting.”

I’ve
calculated to have just completed 1,232 miles or 1982.7 kilometres from Butler,
Pennsylvania to Seward, Nebraska.
There’s another 1,594 miles to go to make it to San Francisco. For now, I’ll hold it as a dream until I
return, in the spring of 2017, to exercise the second half of the U.S.A.

It
was today that I sat for nine hours in a meeting, with minor breaks at
different times. The feet hardly did any
work. It’s awkward, and it doesn’t make
for great sleeping conditions in the night.

At
6:30 p.m. Praharana, a godsister from Canada, and I, delivered a talk on youth
empowerment. Some of the highlights were
“when we became renunciates we were young,” (average age of people joining in
the early 70’s was anywhere from 18-24), and “take responsibility when you’re
young.” And finally, we spoke about
Krishna appearing ‘young’ in His pastimes.
His childhood and youth are to be adored.

Our team of Gopal, Mandala and myself, set out on our
return journey. We were headed east in
our Toyota van which we named Vamana,
a name for an avatar meaning
“the one who makes great strides”. We
spanned the states of Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois, arriving at destination
Chicago for a day’s stay, before continuing.
Oh, how we shook our heads in disbelief, wondering how these hundreds of
miles were just recently covered on foot.

We took a break at Princeton for our two drivers to
catch a nap, and I took the opportunity to walk east on 6. It was time to reminisce on recent doings. I
thought about the beautiful people who had hosted us and organized sangas, or gatherings of devotion. They rarely get a swami coming to town; so
while our pedestrian troupe (the three of us) were around, they milked us like
a contented cow, with questions and requests for mantras. Their
children, too, loved to listen to the wisdom and pastimes of Krishna. How
gracious they all were!

At the edge of Princeton, where I walked, is the old
homestead of abolitionist, Owen Lovejoy, who fought for the liberty of slaves. This
was also the stomping grounds of President Ronald Reagan. I’ve come upon birthplaces
of other celebs, besides U.S. Presidents, on this walk, like actors John Wayne
and Jimmy Stewart. Illustrious company, I suppose.

At the side of one corn field waited two young ladies,
cousins, who stopped to meet and offer me water. They called me a “celebrity.” That’s a far cry. Maybe a “celebrant.”

Thursday, 11 August 2016

Allison Sommerfeld, #4165, a police officer, pulled
over and offered to shake my hand. She
read the following article in today’s “Journal Star” by Lindsay Esparrago:

Bhaktimarga Swami has
trekked across Canada four times covering over 17,000 miles on foot.

Often known as “the
walking monk,” Swami followed his first walk from his homeland of Canada in
1996, by traveling across Ireland, Israel, the Fiji Islands, Mauritius,
Trinidad, Guyana and other countries, to promote simple living and peace.

It was in 2016 when
the 63-year-old Hare Krishna monk told himself, “If I don’t do the USA, I’m not
a complete monk.”

So he’s living up to
his reputation as “the Forrest Gump of Hare Krishna,” he said with a laugh.

In honor of his
spiritual teacher, A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Srila Prabhupada and his
contributions, his decision to walk was final. Prabhupada brought the Hare Krishna tradition
to the U.S. at the age of 70. The walk
celebrates the 50th anniversary of his guru’s introduction of “green style
living” to the 50 states.

With his bright
orange robe-- often mistaken for an orange
prison jumpsuit-- and his tan, go-to Crocs, he
embarked on his 3,000 mile journey from New York City to San Francisco.

But on Saturday
night, after his stay in Lincoln, Swami has decided to put his U.S. excursion
to rest until next summer, when he will return back where he started in Lincoln
and continue on to San Francisco.

He thought Lincoln’s
“middle of the country” location was the perfect stopping point for now.

His reasoning is
simple, much like his lifestyle. Beyond
his marathon walking and duties as a monk, Swami keeps himself busy as a Bhakti
yoga and mantra meditation instructor. He’s
also a playwright, producer and director of live “morality theatre” --
productions based on enlightening tales from ancient India.

“I’m just breaking it
up,” Swami said. “I have a lot of other
responsibilities as a monk. It’s a pretty busy community.”

His choice to stop
after he reaches York on Sunday has nothing to do with a nervous breakdown or
his legs giving out, he said. Each day
he walks 20 miles in about 10 to 12 hours, sometimes getting up as early as
3:30 a.m. Even when the hills get tough,
his body doesn’t quit.

Swami said walking
long distances does anything but remind him of his age. In fact, he swears it makes him feel younger. Sending a message to the youth is one of his
main explanations as to why he chooses to walk.

“I want to encourage
a healthy lifestyle,” he said. “We move
really fast and we need to slow down. Everybody
knows that, but we all need reminders.”

His reminders often
come in abrupt ways as he’s walking along highways, dirt roads and bike trails.
Aside from encountering at least one
police officer each day and scheduled speeches and programs from time to time,
many people come up and question him -- his chance to spread peace and
knowledge.

Who he calls his
“support person” is one of the youth he has influenced to live spiritually. So much, that 21-year-old Mandala McAllister
came from Canada this time around to join in on the adventure.

McAllister drives a
van a few miles ahead of Swami, checking on him every three miles to see if he
needs water or any assistance. But even
the 21-year-old has tried to keep up with Swami’s pace and failed, McAllister
said.

But the interactions
and lessons are all the same, he said.

“There’s so many nice
people to meet,” McAllister said, “and I get to spend time walking with the
monk. He helps me out with my spiritual
life. It’s a really different experience
from experiences of today’s day and age.”

It’s all about the
people for Swami, too. Since his
departure in the spring, Swami raved about peoples’ hospitality. Not once did the two have to camp out because
strangers always offered a place to stay.

Swami said he
resonated with his stopping point of Nebraska, much to his surprise. The
cornfields and “farmers’ country” reminded him of home. Though he observed constant change in Nebraska
-- rural and urban, conservative and liberal company -- he said he also noticed
“stability in this part of the U.S.”

His journey isn't
over and neither is the conversation he's started. Swami thinks he's done just enough to pick
back up where he left off in Lincoln next year.

“If you just drop
little seeds of interest, you get people to think more about the other side of
life,” Swami said. “Giving them a little
hint goes a long way.”

Police authorities continue to remain an integral part
of our cross U.S. walk. A well-built
officer came to “check me out” just as I was about to enter the small city of
Seward. He admitted that he liked what I
was doing.

“I’m always pushing the fitness model to my
associates.” The officer was telling me
he has to restrain himself from going overboard with his hype.

On parting, I mentioned that the police have been
awesome in taking interest in our pilgrim project.

“That’s good to hear,” said the officer, considering
there’s been some negative publicity going out toward police in America, a lot
of it having to do with racial issues.
Everyone’s heard the case of an officer who shot a motorist who was
merely reaching for his wallet. The
fellow died. The passenger, his
girlfriend, filmed the whole thing.

When Mandala was waiting by the side of a dirt road at
mid-day, with the intent to serve me and co-walker Chaitanya Chandra, with
water and fruit, a heavy-set, stereotypical, “tough” sheriff pulled up to see
what was going on. He came to the
passenger’s side of the van. When
Mandala turned to grab for his ID, the officer shouted,
“Hey, stop moving!” He was ready to
reach for his gun. “What are you doing
here?” asked the officer.

“I’m just waiting for The Walking Monk,” implored
Mandala. The sheriff slowly relaxed and
left.

The Bluebird Bike Trail took me into the city of
Lincoln—Nebraska’s capital. No fuss with
traffic, but with horse flies—yes.

For a second consecutive day, lunch was in the home of
Hemant Dessi, proprietor of the La Quinta Inn. Generous as he is, he also is giving Mandala
and I accommodation in the hotel. In
every way, the man is pious. He also hosted
two members of the Swami Narayana group.
They were from a Chicago chapter and sat comfortably in the living room
while we were enjoying our meal. The two
monks, also in rather intense orange attire, had not come prepared to eat, but
we did engage in light conversation with them--they use the title “sadhu” before their names, just as in
our tradition we use the term “swami”
after our spiritually-given names.

They were pleasant.
I suggested that we all, in our different ways, advance the cause of
raising consciousness.Them, and the entire
Gujarati community, and lest we forget, the north, south,
east and west members of the Indian community, who are so eager to serve and
take care of lodging, food and other financial needs.

When interviewed by Lindsay of the “Journal Star”from Lincoln, I was able to say, “Lindsay, since I began this walk, we did not have a problem with securing a room for any night.” Either it has been an ISKCON temple, a
Krishna devotee’s home, or a Hindu household which has supported our need to
rest our weary bodies at the end of the day.
We are grateful!

Monday, 8 August 2016

As mentioned, we have broken into night-time
walking. En route to our starting point, an officer stopped us.
Apparently, Mandala (the driver) went 20 miles over the normal speed
through town. Well, it was hard to
notice there was a town. It was tiny.

The officer went through the usual procedure, asking
for papers and license. Mandala complied
and as he was handing over documents, despite the darkness, the officer noticed
the passenger. Up until now it looked
like a $240 fine was coming Mandala’s way.

“Oh, are you the Walking Monk?” the officer
asked. “They told us you were coming
this way.”

Now, I would have to
admit, the officer, from the beginning, was one of those stern and cold types.
Meeting someone different, however, seemed to lighten him up a bit.

Mandala and I were both relieved that, in the end, no
fine was due us. Just waving!

Whew!

Taking to the bike trail, in the dark, after the
trail-end of a tornado storm whipped through the area, was rather exhilarating. I was surprised to walk head-on into a massive spider web with its web-designer crawling all over my
neck. Remember, it was pretty dark, but
that was the worst of it.

I came to one conclusion about self-analysis. There’s more darkness inside of us than what
is outside. I began to chant at that
point, hoping to turn myself inside out.

Mandala and I decided, or rather the fireball (the
sun) decided, that we would tackle night hours again. The evening breeze was enlivening as we left
the Omaha area and headed towards Lincoln, Nebraska.

Local radio had covered our story and so did the Omaha
World Herald Newspaper. Under the title
above, Maggie O’Brien wrote:

“The Walking Monk”
made a stop in Omaha on Tuesday as part of his journey across America to
celebrate his faith and promote an active, healthy lifestyle.

“It’s about going
back to the basics,” Bhaktimarga Swami said. “Like Gandhi said, a simple life, high
thinking. I see this as doing both of those things.”

Swami, 63, is a Hindu
monk from Canada. He is walking from New York to San Francisco to commemorate
the 50th anniversary of the Hare Krishna religious movement, which emphasizes
spiritual well-being and clean, simple living.

Swami changed his
name from John Peter Vis when he became a monk in 1973. He wears an orange robe
and black Crocs on his feet.

He considers walking
an ideal form of exercise, he said, because anyone can do it, and it allows
time for self-reflection.

This tour is broken
into three parts. He started last fall
in Boston, went to New York, then into Pennsylvania. The second leg started again in Pennsylvania
over Mother’s Day weekend and took him to Ohio, Michigan, Illinois and
Nebraska. He arrived in Omaha on Tuesday.

Next up is Grand
Island on Wednesday, where he’ll stop his journey before completing the third
leg of the trip next summer.

Swami, who also
practices yoga, said he started walking long distances to get away from the
chaos of the world.

He has walked across
Canada four times. He’s also trekked
through Ireland (he said it was wet), Israel (dry), Ghana (hot) and Trinidad
(humid).

It hasn’t been easy
walking through the Midwest, he said. Swami
usually gets up at 4 a.m. to beat the heat and averages about 20 miles a day.

Maggie asked me if I had ever been in Omaha or
Nebraska before, now that I’ve officially walked into the city.

“When we were growing up, on Sunday we would watch
Mutual of Omaha’s TV show ‘Wild Kingdom,’ about African wildlife. That is my reference to Nebraska,” I said to
Maggie, one of the journalists with the Omaha World newspaper, the major paper
in the state. She was interviewing
me. We both had a good laugh. I guess she has friends in the
yoga industry because she also knew that OM is a sacred Sanskrit word, and I said, “If you were to
further analyze, Maha mean--” to which she jumped in with “Great!”

Maggie O’Brien went on to write a beautiful article
about our walking mission.

Now, what about our
walking mission through Omaha and region?
Mandala, my support person, and I had decided
that walking during the course of the day was too much. I started trekking through a rain storm to
begin with. Then the weather turned into
a densely humid, sun-blazing dynamic. Unbearable! Rainstorm! Sun storm! Brain storm!

“Let’s try night-walking,” I suggested. “There’s this lengthy bike-trail called Keystone
Trail. It’ll be safe and we can walk it
in the cool night.”

Mandala was game and so we set out on the
adventure. The sun sank at 9 p.m. I hit the trail. Mandala was there for me, pumping me with
juices and water at intersections.
Though temperatures didn’t go below the 80’s for some time, and muggy weather persisted, we pushed a six
and a half-hour, non-stop trek and completed it at 3:30 a.m.

I hadn’t quite entered the largest city of Nebraska,
nor truly entered the state yet, but being that our hosts live in Nebraska,
some time was devoted to milling around the edges of the city of Omaha.

I met Ray at a gas station. Ray was curious, warm and inviting. While gas was being pumped into his boss’
vehicle, Ray came toward me to ask, “A monk?”

A friendly dialogue started from there. He introduced me to his co-worker who was in
the driver’s seat and just outside the driver’s seat, with the door open, a young woman known to him for two days--as Ray
explained--started being frivolous. By
that I mean, necking with Ray’s friend, quite out in the open. She even gently grabbed him in a certain region
in a kind of lover’s horse-play. It was
a scene monks just don’t usually view.

Ray and I went on about the simplicity of a monk’s
lifestyle as a renunciate. He was keen.

This reminds me of a time when I went to a costume
house to purchase items for a theatre production. It was in Gainesville, and a couple--customers who came to rent or purchase--mistook me for
being part of the staff, dressed-up. The
woman was particularly all over the man, in love, but in the shop. He figured it out that I was a customer and a
genuine monk. So he told her, “Chill, I
think he’s the real thing,”respecting my vocational position.

Anyways, the couple of today showed less shame, but I
won’t judge them in any major way. They
were kind to me and that seems to matter.

Either before or after they pass me, most cyclists don’t have a clue as to who or what I represent when they
see the saffron/orange cloth from the distance.
Some, however, I could hear saying, “Monk”
or “Swami” while in their own conversation, far enough away that they think I’m not
hearing them, but I am. I even heard one
cyclist remark among his peers, “We’re supposed to say ‘namaste,’ instead of ‘Hi.’”

In the very least, passersby with their fast bikes take note that “here’s someone a little
different.”

When I met Dave, 61, retired, he asked about my stance
on Christ.

“He’s the perfect son!” I stated.

“What made you leave Christianity?”

“I never left.
I added on Krishna. The
fundamentals are the same.”

Dave agreed.
The values are universal.

Sam, I also met for the second time on the trail.

“I looked you up on the internet. You’ve been to all kinds of places,” he said.

“Like Ireland, where it’s so wet?”

“Yeah!”

“And Israel, which is so dry?”

“I’m sure!”

I explained that as a sanyasi, a monk, there’s an obligation to see the world. With that, I implied that we view the world from the angle of sacredness. The world is divine, after all.

TRANSLATE

ABOUT ME

I am a disciple of A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, and I became a monk of the Hare Krishna order in 1973. My teacher gave me the spiritual name, Bhaktimarga Swami, which means "the path of devotion". Of course, this fits right in with my avid promotion of walking adventures as a way to connect with the Divine and lead a more care-free / car-free lifestyle. It is a great joy to share these adventures in both Canada and abroad with you via my daily blog.
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ARTICLE: BHAKTIMARGA SWAMI: A LIFE DRAMATIC

CLICK ON PHOTO TO READ FULL ARTICLE FEATURED ON ISKCON NEWS: To ISKCON devotees everywhere, the name Bhaktimarga Swami conjures up images of powerful, out-of-the-box stage productions; and of energetic kirtans, full of stomping dance moves and jubilant smiles...